“She’s been blown. Get down here as quick as you can!”
A mob had surrounded his store when Con Welch arrived. Each man had made his guess on when the ice would go out. Each felt himself robbed of twenty-five thousand dollars. The men buzzed like hornets and they were as greatly aroused.
“I’ve got a dozen men circling the camp,” Kenmore, the marshal, explained. “If they’ve taken a trail out of camp we’ll catch them! Your place ain’t so badly wrecked as it looks. The job was done by men who know how to use powder, but don’t know much about safes!”
Con nodded.
“Half the men in camp can use powder!”
Even as they talked a deputy hurried up.
“We’ve found a trail. It ain’t much, but they went out over the ice. There’s at least two of em!”
Twenty men were standing about, ready for the trail and spoiling for a chance to take part, backed by authority. Kenmore picked his men.
“We’ll travel light,” he announced, “and have others follow us up with grub. We’re taking to the ice before she goes!”
They fairly raced down the frozen surface. A half hour gained now was equal to several hours hard work once the ice was gone.